The Marrying Kind
by NNNNsic
Summary: It took them a while to realize they were pulling off a successful relationship. GSR


Disclaimer: I don't own CSI.

"This is unusual," Sara mumbled from the front seat of a '98 Toyota Camry. She and Grissom had spent the last twenty minutes poking around it, hoping to connect the registered owner to an attempted kidnapping they were working.

"Find something?"

"Oh, no. Sorry, I… never mind," she stuttered, knowing her comment was much more introspective, blurted accidentally under her breath. Nonetheless, Grissom was squinting at her.

"I meant your…mood," she explained, a faint blush on her cheeks.

"I'm in a mood?"

"No, I…" Flustered, Sara covered with evidence. "Couple hairs on the headrest."

"I'm in a good mood," he argued.

Sara shook her head, wishing he'd just drop it. "I know. Never mind…"

He shifted his legs and reached for the glove compartment. It was quiet as he picked through the contents, and Sara stole quick glances at his profile. He _was_ in a good mood. So good he'd been cheering her up a few minutes earlier, teasing her about the tofu sandwich she at for lunch and suggesting they go downtown for breakfast after work.

It was as if he knew she was depressed about this case, like he knew it bothered her more than it should. Yes, the sixteen year old girl was found, heavily drugged, but alive. It still brought Sara down. This stupid Toyota was the only thing around—discovered in an empty parking lot across the street from where she was found—so far the only possible link to what happened to her.

Grissom's attentive behavior got Sara contemplating things.

"I used to think…" She glanced out the windshield, subconsciously checking to make sure they were completely alone. "I always thought if we ever got involved, I'd spend the rest of my life trying to reach you."

Grissom didn't look at her, but he did raise a brow at the door handle. Did she just say the rest of her life?

"Trying to…keep you happy enough personally—so the recesses of the job couldn't bring you down." There was a profound seriousness to her tone, and then suddenly their gazes met and held.

He had to stop himself from prompting her with, "And…"

"It never occurred to me the roles could reverse without me even noticing," she added, and Grissom swore her eyes looked a little moist.

He thought it best to say nothing—but then he rethought and shrugged. "If it's any consolation, I expected I'd be more difficult, too."

Sara laughed. "I'm sorry."

When their eyes met again, they exchanged playful smirks and subtle head bobs. They really were making it work, and sometimes the random moments of realization snuck up on her. Sara looked away, trying to sort out the odd balance of playfulness and underlying gravity.

"Yeah, you're veritable husband material," she teased in a low voice, squinting at the steering wheel before reaching for a tape lift.

She almost missed it, he responded so softly, but she did hear it—the whispered, "Say the word, Sara," that came from his side of the car.

She didn't look at him and didn't stop working, but in a brash move she said, "What word is that?"

"There's some mud down here," he said, quickly lowering his head to the floorboard.

Sara rolled her eyes and tried not to laugh at him. "That's what I thought you said," she mumbled, a harmless jab to the boyfriend in him.

"Hey, I'm not poking your aversion to marriage," he announced, lifting the floor mat.

Sara frowned at nothing and blinked, head slowly cocking with confusion. "I'm sorry, poking it?" Why couldn't she just let it go and shut up?

Grissom looked up and blinked at her. He flipped through his mental files, every past conversation regarding marriage, weddings, commitment. What was she doing? Picking a fight, or…trying to tell him something?

His mouth opened and closed. "Are we really having this conversation right here?"

Her heart was suddenly pounding, seeing the weight of his stare. Shit. This was an important case. What were they doing? She looked away, but still felt an adrenaline rush that no doubt stemmed from some feminine hope buried so deep inside her she didn't know it existed. When she looked up to reply, Greg barreled into the garage.

"Uh, no…" she mumbled.

They exchanged puzzled, concerned glances one last time before Grissom turned to acknowledge Greg.

It was a silent understanding: _Later_.

"The victim's awake," Greg began. "It wasn't a kidnapping after all. She tried to commit suicide."

Sara's stomach knotted. Sometimes, things needed to be reexamined.

THE END


End file.
